


Mind If I?

by Ladycat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Except. Maybe Ronon isn't trying to play her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind If I?

The moon is just beginning to glow softly when Elizabeth finally turns her tablet off. Long days are nothing new to her -- she's always been an overachiever, marshaling student governments when she couldn't interact with real ones, taking on extra classes, extra assignments because she's always had this ball of energy inside her, burning her up until she has to learn new things, do _more_ things just to provide enough fuel.

She understands Rodney and the rest of the scientists in a way she's pretty sure they won't ever fathom, because she isn't in it for _knowledge_ but for _people_. It's just a question of shifting focus, but they're scientists. They don't know how to shift focus.

Still, for all the long days she's spent shepherding recalcitrant governments or reading papers in the shoe-box office the university had given her, days on Atlantis feel longer and harder than anything she's done before. It's not just paper counters on a board now, people she believes she can empathize with even though she's never seen their faces, heard them laugh or watched them shatter under her eyes.

Now she has. Now she nods to each and every man and woman she's responsible for as they pass her in the hallways and march through a vertical puddle that shimmers blue and silver.

Now she wonders how the hell anyone believed her impassioned speeches about human rights or shared coexistence, not calling her on her ignorance -- her _arrogance_ for claiming knowledge she just didn't have. 

It's like being in love: you might _think_ you are, but so long as you're 'thinking' it, you aren't. It's only when you _know._

Sighing, Elizabeth pushes a tablet full of bandage counts and Carson's worried reports about medicine growing scarce, his cobble-together plan to retrieve the necessary building blocks that Sheppard has, of course, approved, leaving the decision to negotiate at great risk or just steal the damned stuff -- as he puts it -- in her hands. Compromises and choices and shades of grey she's never encountered before, never even contemplated before.

"Hey." The door to her office is always open this late to let the breeze sweep through; no one disturbs her past ten, anyway. Sheppard's laid that law down _very_ effectively.

Elizabeth tries to put more warmth in her smile. "Ronon, hello. What can I do for you?"

Half-hidden by shadows for a moment the true sardonic weight of his gaze doesn't make it through. When it does, curled with amusement that makes her feel very young and very feminine against his entirely too-powerfully masculine regard, he's got a smile ready to distract her.

Ronon doesn't smile very often. Bets fly fast and furious as to the nature -- from Running so long? Or is he just that kind of man? Does he not have a sense of humor? -- of the cause and yes, the last year or so has seen Ronon relax enough to give little half-smiles that remind her strikingly of Rodney.

But he doesn't _smile_ , lips stretched wide until lines form on his cheeks and beneath his eyes, teeth gleaming as he advances towards her. "I've never met a woman like you," he confesses, still prowling closer with a slick, easy gait that makes Elizabeth's stomach tremble.

She's tired. That's it. That's all it's got to be. She's tired and she's stressed, and it's been so _long_ \-- "Your people never had women in positions of power?"

His slanted look dismisses that before she work up any kind of righteous feminist defense, as eloquent as one of Rodney's ten-minute 'don't be stupid' rants. "Not like you," he continues, grabbing the back of her chair and pushing it out, spinning so that nothing blocks the air molecules between them. "Not someone who goes until she can't figure out how to stop anymore."

The irony doesn't escape her, but Elizabeth's too busy crossing her legs and lifting her chin to comment on it. "Oh?"

"On Sateda, anybody in a position of power was given somebody."

"Like a -- " the word dies, because Elizabeth absolutely cannot bring herself to say 'hooker'. Or, probably more accurately, 'gigolo'.

"Sometimes it was their mate. Sometimes it wasn't." Ronon has his hands on the arms of her chair now, leaning down so that the scent of spice and leather and male, male musk is driving her crazy.

She's _never_ so affected like this! She's had men a lot smoother and a lot more virile -- well, maybe not more _virile_ \-- than Ronon try to play her exactly like this before, and they all failed.

Except. Maybe Ronon isn't trying to play her. Elizabeth hardly ever denies one of his few requests, so -- so unless he's doing this for someone else, which _also_ makes no sense -- 

His mouth is warm and very, very careful as it closes over hers. The bristles of his beard are excitingly new and different, the first man she's ever kissed -- been kissed by -- who isn't primarily clean-shaven. He kisses her gently, _respectfully_ , licking over her bottom lip like he's content to do just that, not like it's a request for her to open her mouth, which it really is, and she _does_ because she wants to know what he tastes like, what those careful, respectful kisses will feel like when he's sucking on her tongue...

"We can't do this." She breaks away with a gasp, hand covering her mouth. Ronon's got a knee wormed in between hers and he doesn't seem to be deterred by her objection, kissing over her neck and shoulder, one big, big hand carefully cupping her shoulder.

It should feel like a restraint. Mostly, though, it just feels _good_.

"Nobody can do this alone," he says. "It's stupid to try."

"You -- Ronon, I'm responsible for you. I'm -- I'm more like your _moth -- "_

Ronon's second smile is as open as the first, but there's a wicked, hungry edge to it. "Don't think you're old enough," he rumbles, thumbing where he'd just pinched, soothing the sudden sting of it. "And that argument's stupid. I'm responsible for you, too."

"Ronon -- "

"You're the one in charge. You gotta have somebody to help. I want to help."

Could it just be that easy? There's no denying he's handsome and probably achingly good with his hands -- there's a reason Elizabeth tends to end up with doctors, particularly surgeons -- and she _wants_. God, she wants for one night to feel like a woman instead of a leader, to just be Elizabeth instead of Dr. Weir.

Elizabeth looks up at him, 'no' trembling on her lips, while Ronon looks back, blank and still and -- and open. Vulnerable, almost, and _eager_ , simple and hopeful and content with whatever answer he gets but he wants, oh, he _wants_ the answer to be -- 

"It has to be just," she hears herself say, and has no idea what 'just' it has to be.

Ronon nods as he kisses her, cupping her breasts before letting those hands run down her torso to cup between her legs, encouraging her to widen them so he can press the seam of her pants exactly -- god, _exactly_ \-- where it needs to go, rubbing circles until they both feel her start to warm.

"It's just help," he says and it's both more romantic and more ruthlessly practical than Elizabeth can fully comprehend, her thoughts dissolving under the intensity of his touches, learning her while she's fully clothed and seated in her chair, her normal, every day, working chair and his hands, oh, his hands are _perfect_ , as good as she suspected, and when she finally breaks one of them grips her waist, steadying her while she pants and tries to swallow her whimpers, slicking her thighs and his fingers in the first release she's had that hasn't come from her own fingers in far, far too long.

She's still panting when he pulls her upright, kissing her with dirty passion that's no less respectful than before. "There," he says, nipping sharply below her ear. He's got to be bent awkwardly to reach her, and Elizabeth knows she's tall for a woman, but he doesn't seem to mind at all. "That'll do for a start."

Something hot and fluttery tightens her stomach. "A start?"

Ronon kisses her until spots flare black and white in front of her eyes. "A start. Had to get you to relax enough to play," and it's so Ronon, so physically aware that she's laughing even as he leads her through the halls, ducking passed patrol guards with frightening ease to end up in her own bedroom, on her very own bed.

"Won't do anything you don't want," he says, eyes glittering as he stretches her out. He's naked, stripped in a flash, while she lingers over unbuttoning her shirt. "Just. Let me?"

Swallowing, Elizabeth presses her palms flat against the linen comforter that was a gift from the Athosians. "Okay."


End file.
